


It's your world I live inside

by julilolil



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bad headspace, M/M, i truly am sorry btw, maybe not so much but def a lil bit, please read the notes for further warnings, spy!elu ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:33:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julilolil/pseuds/julilolil
Summary: “Eliott.” A plea, a prayer, a scream. He doesn’t even know anymore, it feels like his head is underwater; everything blurred around him, not even the sound of his breathing audible - maybe he isn’t breathing at all.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	It's your world I live inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natalie19h34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalie19h34/gifts).



> This wouldn't be nearly as angsty or ~cold~ if it weren't for you, nat. Thank you for everything. I hope you enjoy.  
> It turned out to be a combination between your request 28. When I'm dead - from the prompt list "the way you said I love you" - and an idea I had while listening to Brief Encounter by Dawn Golden, the title comes from its lyrics.
> 
> I made a playlist with some songs that seemed fitting for the fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3TTvRLPQqrckfW4FVMa7vG?si=YpUqRLOORHqYXuGZR0NgkA
> 
> Warnings: there is no explicit death, but as the prompt says one is dead. The general headspace is heavy as well as the whole atmosphere of the fic, so - please - beware.

Lucas isn’t sure as to why he is still on this job after all that’s happened; sometimes he says to himself it is for the country, a service to society - it might be a controversial profession to some, but the number of lives he has saved is undeniable even if it might come by lying and manipulating - although he knows that couldn’t be more of a lie. It was never for a greater good, maybe only when he was a kid dreaming of working in an intelligence agency, but once he was in it became much more. The thrill that came with the job, the adrenaline that pumped through his veins whenever he had to work as an insider, nothing could ever compare to that. That is, until Eliott Demaury came along.

The feeling he felt around the guy was something else entirely, no mission could ever come slightly close. One look, and his blood buzzed like he had just completed three tasks, a brush of skin against his and it was even better than when he got enough information to intercept a whole trafficking scheme. One kiss and he would actually explode, it definitely felt like he did. 

Now it has been two years too long since he doesn’t feel any of that, no excitement on the job, but that doesn’t even compare to the lack of the prickling he would feel on his skin, like fire running around his body, whenever Eliott was close. It’s been two years today since he’s lost him and with that any kind of sensation other than the constant deafening whistle in his head and tightness around his heart. 

So when he asks himself why he still does this after it has cost him what he had of best in his life, anything different from _to make it hurt more_ would be a lie. Everyday he comes here it feels like he loses a bit more of himself, the emptiness he feels inside growing - so much it might come a time when he is nothing but void. Yet, he feels drawn here, maybe it is the only thing that reminds him that he is alive - ironic as it is, since it is the reason that made him question his existence in the first place. 

But today he can’t seem to feel like made of matter - body levitating all around. Not even this place to ground him, the awfully familiar haze especially blurring his vision. It seems like he watches everything through a million kilometers distance, his life - or lack there of - unrolling in front of him but completely out of reach. 

Yann must have definitely realized it this morning; he should be grateful for his friend checking in on him, but he can’t help but feel irritated by the look of pity in his eyes, even though lately it has transformed into annoyance dangerously playing with hopelessness. It is something he never thought he would see on his best friend’s features. Not directed at him. And he hates it. Hates being viewed as weak or pitiful, always has, but he can’t even seem to care about it anymore. So when Yann asked how he was, tried to make him talk, screamed at him. _You can’t live like this anymore_ . He can’t even remember looking up, the whistle in his head becoming a scornful laugh with a vicious tone _it’s not like I’m living anyway_. He can’t know if he said it out loud, but after that his friend left without a look back. 

And now he finds himself here on the training field, no mission in sight, it feels like he hasn’t been in one in years. He doesn’t really have anything to do at work, he has a place to go, however. He has been dreading it since last night, sleepless night thinking of what it might be when he gets there, the disquietude greater than usual. His worries are cut short when his boss comes to him and says he can go home, tone much nicer than usual. And what is left of him is only to go to the appalling - yet possibly favorite - place.

***

The wind blows through his hair as he takes the usual path through the empty streets, a gloom all around, the snow giving a soft touch to it. It always has been beautiful to his eyes, the snow, but now it comes accompanied by a set of memories he isn’t sure he would like to repress until they completely disappear - like they had never been - or drown in, make them all he’s ever thought of. 

The thing with memories is, once they come into a longing mind, they will haunt it until the only thing that’s left is a bruised heart, longing even more than it was before. It is no different with Lucas, so much he wonders how his heart is still beating; so deep are the scars in it. Still he can’t bring himself to resent the memories that constantly fill his mind and make his heart ache - he could never.

So, as he reaches the far end of the street and finally sees the house on the openfield, he feels an equal fullness as utter emptiness, like he’s never been this lonely, but still, in here - that house - is where he feels more like he belongs. His legs are in a constant battle between running towards it or slowly walking away. Yet his stride is seemingly calm, a nice front to the mess he feels on the inside. 

He takes this time to breath in the icy air, there is something about winter that always makes breathing seem easier, like the simple action of inspiring doesn’t demand as much from him, on the contrary, it feels like finally taking a breath after being underwater for too long. He would almost feel at peace if it weren’t for that constant knocking inside of his head making all reality feel even further from his reach. Detached, is what he feels. It sure makes the melancholy of life weight more on him, but it does bring out some beauty to the world. Like living through the mist, the brightness isn’t too shiny, the sounds aren’t too loud, everything feels more controlled - a state of his own. 

He sees the outline of the house clearly now and just as he reaches the door his feet stop working, this has always been the hardest part - getting in. He can feel the key in his pocket burning a whole through the heavy layers of clothes directly into his skin, he is scared the heat will bruise his hand once he takes it, but he does it anyway. It doesn’t leave a mark, which does not mean it isn’t hurtful nonetheless. It feels so heavy on his palm that what was once an incredibly easy movement seems barely possible. 

_It’s just a door_ he wants to scream. The thought almost comes accompanied by a cynical laugh. If it were just a door he wouldn’t take so long to open it every damn time. _Another week, another day, and here I am again. In front of this fucking piece of wood._ It is so ridiculous he wants to cry, or maybe punch it to the ground.

Instead, with trembling hands, he gets the key between his fingers and slowly slides it into the lock, it’s not as hard as he thinks - then again, it never really is. With a soft click the door glides open and as the inside of the house comes into view, everything seems to lose a bit of its color. 

He continues his usual route towards the bedroom, the house isn’t big, but he doesn’t take time looking around - he never does. It is the same ritual as every other week, it doesn’t make him feel any less, if only he feels more each time. Especially today; he comes in, goes straight into the bedroom and lays in the bed. It is a habit he can’t seem to escape from nor dislike, even though it hurts. 

Each time it feels like, once he closes the door, a part of him is ripped away and it never really returns. He can only imagine what will be of the day he has nothing more to give. Maybe he will disintegrate - he can only hope - particles taken by the wind, flying to every corner, one to ocean depths, one will lay on the snow, maybe one in the middle of a forest and if he is lucky enough, one will stay right here. 

So it hurts. Still, it is the only thing he has left of Eliott and it feels like home. It is funny - or gruesome - to think how easily it could have been. _Their home_.

The image creates as much lightness as desire - burning desire. And as he lays on the bed, looking out the window, he feels void with all that he wishes he had but could never really have. Not anymore. 

The snow is lightly falling outside and he finds himself hypnotized by it, his mind slowly drifting off to a place equally dreadful and comforting, with all the memories that are in there.

It has always been beautiful, the snow. Maybe just not so much today. 

***

_a few years back on a winter day_

“Come on, Lucas… Just a few minutes.” Eliott pouts and it is incredibly hard for Lucas to keep the seriousness in his features, but he keeps walking with long strides, Eliott trailing right behind. 

“Eliott, you know we aren’t here to fool around. We get the job done as quickly as possible.” His frown deepens and he looks like a stubborn baby, but Lucas can’t show himself affected.

“Pleeeease.”

“Jesus, Eliott. To this day I wonder how you got this job.” Eliott suddenly stops, a diabolical smirk widening on his rosy lips, a deep contrast with the bright white surrounding them. Lucas turns around to face him. 

“I think you know pretty well how I did it.” Lucas steps closer, starting to play at his game.

“Oh my, Demaury. What are you implying exactly?” His icy blue eyes shine with a fire Lucas feels burning right into his own.

“Might have something to do with - what was it? My _perfect fucking face_?” Lucas rolls his eyes, their closeness making it difficult for him to keep his hands to himself. 

“So you admit you only get places because you have a pretty face.” Lucas teases, but Eliott only wiggles his brows provocatively.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Lucas feels Eliott’s warm breath against his face, the mission long forgotten in his brain. He wets his lips in a slow motion, Eliott following the movement intently with hungry eyes. Lucas almost closes the space between them, the condensed air fogging his view, whiteness all around, except from the glow of Eliott’s eyes. He now starts to move as well, getting closer to Lucas, but when their lips brush together Lucas walks away with a quick stride. 

“Lucas!” He lets out a breathy whimper and Lucas can’t hold back a childish laugh. “Oh no, you didn’t.” Before Lucas can form any coherent thought, he feels his body being pushed and collapsing onto something soft, something the years of training would have prevented if it weren’t for the smiling man under him blurring all of his thoughts and making everything around him feel a bit lighter, easier. 

“Eliott!” He holds Lucas’ waist, painfully crumbled down. “Which part of _we have a mission_ don’t you understand?” Eliott shrugs, a soft grin on his lips, and lifts one hand to play with a strand of Lucas’ hair. 

“That is the last thing I care about at this moment.” He says softly, eyes traveling around Lucas’ face, expectation beautifully shining in them. “Do you know what day is today?” Lucas scrunches his brows, confused. He shakes his head and Eliott smiles wistfully. “One year. One year since our paths crossed.” How does Eliott remember that, Lucas has no idea. The knowledge that their meeting has such importance to Eliott makes his breath hitch. “Do you remember?” 

“Of course I do.” And it is true, _so true_ , he remembers every single second of that day, well, except from the fact that it was a year from today. “We met on that boat.” He smiles looking down at Eliott, brushing his fingers against his chin.

“I had seen you before.” Eliott says, simply. 

“What?” He trails a finger down Lucas’ cheekbone, eyes emanating… _love._

“I knew who you were. I knew all about you.” Lucas frowns, understanding dawning on him. “You were my mission.” Eliott points one finger at Lucas, barely brushing it against his skin. His breathing stops, eyes wide watching Eliott’s every move, he is calm, a sweet expression on his face, which is preoccupying considering the magnitude of what he just said.

“Then why didn’t you turn me in? Complete your task?” He whispers. Eliott holds Lucas’ neck, caressing the base of his hair.

“Because it was you. Because it _is_ you.” 

Suddenly everything seems heightened around him, the light reflecting too bright on the snow, the birds chanting too loud, the coldness around him drilling holes at his skin and the heat emanating from Eliott making the feeling of their bodies pressed together unbearable.

“You could have died for it.”

“Yes.” 

“And you still did it.”

“Yes. For you.” Lucas feels dizzy, he knows perfectly well what he feels for Eliott, but him saying he feels it as well, with as much intensity, is too much. It makes his head ache, his heart tighten and his lungs fail. He shakes his head looking everywhere but Eliott’s eyes, only then he realizes Eliott is pinned against the snow.

“Eliott, you are laying on the snow.” He doesn’t seem bothered by the change of topic, an easy smile on his face.

“I am.” 

“You will get damp.” Eliott huffs out a laugh.

“I don’t mind.”

Why is Eliott acting like this right now, Lucas doesn’t get. Annoyance dawns on him as he remembers they are supposed to be on a mission, not talking about feelings - about _love,_ that’s what it is, isn’t it? He feels a sudden urge to get away burning him from inside out, so he starts moving, motioning to get up, but Eliott holds his arms lightly.

“Lucas.” In his gaze is reflected the view around them, Lucas sees the fluffiness of the clouds, the tips of trees, the snowflakes that have begun to softly fall, but mostly he sees blue-grey consumed by affection. It prickles at his eyeballs, recognition spreading a troubling warmth in his body. He knows that look - knows it’s how he looks at Eliott - and Lucas _knows_ what he is about to say, sees it in his eyes. 

It is like everything has led them to this exact moment. _Yes_ , he wants to say, _tell me everything and nothing. I think my ears were only made so I could hear your gentle breath, listen to the melody that is created when words run out of your mouth, the way your stride has an unique sound, like your walk is formed by little hops_. But the weight of what is to come seems too great - yet not enough - to explain this feeling. So his fingers meet Eliott’s lips, a slight brush against them.

“I know.” He does, he always has. But words are not always the best to translate what goes on in his mind. How his thoughts seem to be aligned around Eliott, how he always knows - _feels_ \- where Eliott is, how he would, in any mission, give himself away if it were for Eliott to be spared without even flinching. That is how he feels, and it doesn’t seem like any combination of words existent could transcribe it. So he prefers to say nothing at all than to say something he doesn’t really mean - it could never make justice to what this truly is. “You don’t have to say anything.” 

*

He would have let him say it, if he knew. He would have said it back. A hundred of times, a thousand, until it was all he spoke. Until his existence was merely a proof of his love for Eliott. God, he wants to say it. But more than that, he wants to be heard. He _needs_ to be heard. 

*

Not even realizing he had fallen asleep he opens his eyes slowly, his eyelids seeming heavier than ever before. Maybe he doesn’t want to open them, the fresh memory still very much alive in his mind and the feeling of only coldness around him, dull and cutting, instead of the comforting heat of Eliott emanating from under him is unbearable. 

There is always something missing. A soft touch on his skin, blue eyes looking at him with an unreadable expression - love that’s what it has always been -, a gentle whisper against his lips, an “I love you” that was never said nor heard but was still there, more present than anything.

Love was in the way Eliott would always smile at Lucas in the morings, even though he hated to wake up early. It was in the way he touched Lucas’ skin like it was the most precious and delicate thing in the world, and yet every single touch looking for more, hungry in all its gentleness, just like Lucas would touch him back. In the way Eliott would softly massage Lucas’ back whenever he was too tense, or how he would give a reassuring look whenever Lucas felt like he couldn’t complete a mission. In the way he was always there, even if it could have meant his career, maybe even his life. How, in the end, it was what it took. 

Love is still in here, maybe it is all Lucas feels, and suddenly he has the urge to scream it, scream for it. But the thing with this love is that it is masked with all the loss there has been, and what is there to do with love when there is nothing, no one - _not him_ \- to give it to?

It burns on Lucas’ veins, a poisonous feeling spreading all over his body, his mind is blank, an all consuming darkness, like he is afloat. Body dissolved in molecules flowing around, connected only by a deep urge to speak, to _call-out_. Everything he has never said, out in the open.

“Eliott.” He whispers in a cry, clutching the covers of the bed trying to feel something - anything - other than this compulsive feeling, this pain - like spiky roots tightening around his ribcage, ripping through his skin. It hurts so much it is almost impossible to breath. “Eliott.” A plea, a prayer, a scream. He doesn’t even know anymore, it feels like his head is underwater; everything blurred around him, not even the sound of his breathing audible - maybe he isn’t breathing at all. 

He closes his eyes, looking for that image again, Eliott displayed on the snow, an easy smile on his face, just there under him; for Lucas to touch whenever he wanted to. It is so painful when he extends his arms and feels nothing but the cold sheets against his skin that he gulps a scream and presses his hands on his forehead with such strength it hurts, trying to summon the view again or hide it in the depths of his mind.

When he opens his eyes again he looks out the window, it is darker and through the heavily clouded sky it is impossible to see the sun, but he feels like it's the end of the afternoon approaching. At this time of the day there is always a stagnant feeling, like everything is falling in place or nothing is in place at all, a state divided between day and night, light and dark, the only time when they meet one another or the only time they have to fight against each other. Either way, it is always the darkness that stays behind. 

The snow softly falling enriches the dichotomy and, for the first time in years, the shining whiteness out there doesn’t feel daunting, it is almost soothing in all of its steadiness. A great contrast to the feeling of his heart uncoordinatedly beating against his ribcage. He lifts up, eyes still outside following the movement of the snowflakes. Suddenly he wants to be there, feel the caress of the snow falling on his skin melting into a delicate drop of water. It is amazing how the ice can never be, always a state in between. That’s how he feels, a body that’s lost its original form in search of a new one. 

He gets a coat, far from enough to protect him from the freeziness outside, but he wants to feel it, feel it all, and in seconds he is outside. There is almost a beginning of a smile on his face with the feeling of the coldness encompassing him and the snowflakes gently laying on his body. His eyes are closed and it’s so refreshing, the heaviness inside his head diminishing if only a bit, weight taken out with every droplet he feels on his face. 

He finally welcomes the view, eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness reflected on the snow. It’s been awhile since he observed the field, and it’s alluring in its emptiness, snow is the only thing in sight. It’s more beautiful like this, greenery covered in a graceful veil - kilometer’s length - until it meets the horizon, until it’s nowhere to be seen. And there, in the middle of the white vastness, a single flower not many steps away from where he is. Soft pink - _just like his lips_. It is so out of place, with its fragility amongst the brutality of the freezing snow. Still, it belongs - a perfect balance. Bits of spring in the middle of winter, warmth reaching through the coldness, a comforting touch amongst disorder.

He is taken over by the urge to approach and his body moves like it's not his own, legs swiftly creating a pace, desperate is what it is. As he gets closer, the flower only looks more ethereal - so strange in that setting and yet it couldn’t be in a more perfect place. It is now at a hand’s distance and he sees it much more clearly, it’s a soft but vibrant pink, highlighted even more by the white around it. It stands out so much he is surprised he hadn’t seen it on the way in. Now it is like it’s all he can look at, taking all his attention and all of his thoughts. 

He falls to the side of the flower, wanting to reach out, but afraid to ruin its elegance, so perfect it could all be inside his head. “I love you.” He whispers. To the flower, to himself, to the universe. It is not unexpected, even if he didn’t know it was coming out of his mouth. “I love you.” To Eliott. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” For all the times he didn’t say it. 

*

Once the hues of the sky begin to change, there where the snow meets the horizon, an orangy tone shining through the clouds, and his body trembles too much, he lifts himself up and with one last look at the flower he starts stumbling away. But there is something that doesn’t let him go much far, maybe it’s his head that is spinning too much, but he feels something pulling him backwards, like a string connected to his middle and when he looks back all he can see is that pink, shining more than it was before, it looks like it has a light of its own. Before he realizes it, he is once more by its side, looming over it and something just tells him to _get closer_.

So he goes and takes the flower.

*

Back inside he feels too dizzy to do anything but take his damp clothes off and bury himself under the covers of the bed - _their_ bed - the flower tucked against his chest. It is something he didn’t do anymore, lay under the blankets, it felt way too intimate to be done without Eliott by his side, but in some ways, it feels like he is right here. And in all honesty he is too exhausted to form any line of thought, his mind rapidly going all dark.

***

He wakes up with his entire body feeling sore, probably from sleeping fully clothed and not entirely displayed on the bed. When he looks outside it is already fully dark, and it is unusual. He would never let himself stay too long, the heaviness of everything closing in on him with too much force, but today it doesn’t feel like that. Bits of pink coloring all of his thoughts.

 _Just like his lips_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> I apologize for any inconsistency relating to the whole intellingence angency, it's not something I know much about, I did try and research a bit, but it shouldn't be of much impact if sth is wrong.  
> my tumblr: lololil


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